A Fox's Game
by dustflare
Summary: Not much is known about District 5's "Foxface." Every tribute has a story; even the one that means nothing, that no one knows.
1. Prologue

_Every tribute has a story. Even the girl that means nothing, that no one knows._

I hear my younger sisters calling after me, pleading for me to stay as I scurry out the door. Not looking back, I take off down the gravel road, kicking up rocks behind me. I don't stop until I've reached the town.

People hurry in and out of stores, clutching plastic bags filled with clothes or food, some holding their child's hand and desperately trying to keep their grip on the squirming toddler. Children dressed in rags – or some in silk dresses or jeans – laugh and play by the fountain in the center of the market. Outside some stores, teenage girls squeal as a lady prances around with her dog.

Knowing I won't be noticed in such a crowd, I dart towards a random store. Slipping my leather jacket over my arms, I silently push open the door and find myself behind an old woman. While the cashier is busy arguing with a stubborn teen that insists the price on the shirt she wants to buy should be lower, I hustle to the back of the store and grab several shiny, bright red apples. Stuffing them in my jacket pocket, I snatch several packets of crackers.

A couple yards away, a clerk is guiding a wailing child to her mother. _Now's my chance._ I slink behind a rack and lumber down the aisle. Finally, I reach the check-out counter and simply walk out the door. I'm safe because most stores don't have security systems.

Once I reach my house, my sisters and brother are waiting right by the door. They stumble inside behind me and I dump the contents of my jacket onto the dining room floor.

My youngest sister, Calanthe, gapes at the fancy leopard-print shirt I stole for her. After slipping it on, she claps and beams at me, clasping her hands together. "Oh, Fox! Thank you!" she squeals, wrapping her tiny arms around my legs.

I smile half-heartedly at her. Though she doesn't know that what I do is wrong, I'm fully aware. "Of course, Calanthe. Anything for you." My voice cracks.

"Thank you, Froxen," my other two sisters chortle. Ivy, only seven, jumps into my arms and knocks me down. We laugh together for a few moments until I become solemn again.

"Remember, no one else will know of this, okay? It's our little secret," I say as my siblings quiet down. "If anyone finds out, there will be no more food, no more presents."

All four children nod soberly, even little Calanthe. "I promise I won't tell anyone," says eight-year-old Willow with her childish voice.

Although they promise, it is all just a game to them. Nothing but a fox's game.

As I lie on the rough-carpeted floor of my rickety old house, I contemplate my past and future. Five years ago, when I was nine, my parents disappeared. That's when I became the head of the family. My entire life I have been clever; I can easily outwit anyone. So every day I sneak through the market and grab whatever I can before returning home. Usually, I go alone. But sometimes I take my eleven-year-old brother, Roman.

Even at the age of nine, I was never caught. Slipping silently through the stores and alleys is my talent. No one knows who I am; I remain a mystery. Only my siblings know my name, who I am, who I have always been.

I am Froxen Rykett, and this is my story.


	2. Home

I peer throw the window, my viridian gaze trained on the boy inside the bakery. Watching the sandy-haired boy carelessly shove a pan into the oven fuels my anger. While my siblings and I are living out on the streets and are practically starving to death, the wealthier citizens of District 5 are indolent and smug, leaving their homes each day to become richer by working in factories. This will just not do.

Five-year-old Calanthe's squeak of pain causes my head to jerk in her direction. Lately, she hasn't been feeling well. Roman says she's ill, and of course, he's right, but we have no money to spare, no money for a visit to the only doctor on this side of town. Even if I stole some, any doctor would be suspicious, seeing how gaunt we are.

Calanthe's fingernails are flaxen and weathered, her puffy cheeks no longer rosy. Only her hair, a brilliant light brown, stays in place, falling in waves below her shoulders. After many days of eating only bread and apples, she has become so skinny that her ribs can be seen through her tight-fitting black tee, which is tattered and achromatic. Before she began to starve, she was slender, but now it has become obvious that she is famished. Living in an ally has deprived her of radiance and a worthy life.

Beside her sits Roman, who, at age eleven, is in training. Not for the Games, however. Indigent, grungy Roman is being taught, by me, what I like to call "the art of thievery." While I stay and tend to Calanthe as best I can, he spends his days slithering in and out of shops, heisting food and clothing. His own battered clothes and banal expression suggest that he continues the raids in the pouring rain, trudges through the general six inches of snow, hikes under the burning sun.

Then there's Ivy. Being only seven, she shouldn't have much to worry about. But though she is young, she's more mature than the other kids. Ivy is beautiful, with her flowing chestnut hair, stunning green eyes, and shy but flashy smile. Like Calanthe, her hair is her only beauty, for her light pink lips are cracked and her flushed cheeks are scarred. Long, slender fingers define her as nimble and innocent. Scarred hands and an emaciated figure show signs of torture and hardships. Despite her dilapidated appearance, however, she is, on the inside, an angelic girl.

Eight-year-old Willow is contrary and abrasive, quite the opposite of Ivy. Curly blonde hair and sparkling ocean-blue eyes the shape of almonds used to make her look so much older absolutely flawless. But now, as she weeps, her arms wrapped around her legs, she looks like the child she truly is. Ocean-blue eyes are now vapid and practically lifeless in her fragile state.

"Why are we here, Fox?" whimpers Calanthe, her eyes squeezed shut. "I don't like this place. This isn't our h-home." Poor Calanthe begins to tremble all over, her lower lip quivering.

"Hush," I whisper, pulling her into my lap. I stroke her wispy brown hair. "It's going to be alright. Soon, once the food supply has run out, we'll find somewhere else to live. Fox will make it all better."

Hugging Calanthe closer to my chest, I pull up my legs and bend my knees. I try to console her, wiping away her tears, and eventually she sniffles and falls asleep in my arms. I sigh and softly set her down on her battered, aqua blue blanket, where she curls up and continues to whimper in her sleep.

Roman taps my shoulder lightly. "Froxen, I managed to snatch us some cheese!" he whispers fervently.

I blink open my eyes and stare at Roman, crouched in front of me with gleaming eyes and an elusive grin. His disheveled hair and goofy smile make me laugh, a rusty laugh that none of us have heard in so long.

"I won't even ask how," I say, grinning. "Is that all you got?"

"Well, yes," he replies guiltily, still smiling, "but that's all you wanted, right?"

"Right. Remember that once the food is gone, we're leaving, maybe moving back into that old house. Just don't get your hopes up," I add.

"I won't get my hopes up," he promises. Then he crawls over where Calanthe and Willow are sleeping and nudges them both. "Wake up, you two. I got cheese," he hisses.

Calanthe blinks and wearily sits up. Rubbing her eyes, she says in her babyish voice, "Really? We haven't had cheese in a long, long time."

"Really, Calanthe. I know we haven't. But we have some now, right here." Roman holds out a hand, revealing scarred palms and a slice of cheese. "Not much, but at least it's some."

"Thank you, Roman," whispers Calanthe, gazing fondly at the slice of cheese. "Actually, I've never had cheese. I've seen you and Foxy eat it, but you said I was too young to try it. You two made me wait." She pouts.

"Well, now's your chance!" I exclaim. That's what I tell myself when I'm getting ready to rush in and steal something.

Timidly biting a piece off, her sea green eyes stretch wide in awe. "I love it!" she squeals, clasping her hands together like she always does in moments like this. "Can you get more?"

"Of course he can't get more, dimwit," mutters Willow, who is sprawled out beside her, eyes still closed. "Cheese is rare, especially to kids like us. Think for once. We live on the streets and… well, you know what we do to get food," she spits, glancing sourly at me. "I swear, Calanthe…" Her voice trails off as she grumbles.

"Be grateful!" I snap. "Roman took a great risk, getting that cheese for you. He could have-"

My sentence is cut of by a clattering noise down the alley and the swift patter of approaching footsteps.

The next few moments are a blur. Peacekeepers appear instantly, staring curiously at us with bewildered expressions. They obviously know that something's up, and I begin to expect that Roman was spotted while at the market.

Taking advantage of people is one of the few things keeping me alive. So, as the frozen Peacekeepers shoot dumbfounded gazes at us, I grab Calanthe's tiny hand and dart forwards, facilely dodging every weapon that comes my way.

Calanthe begins to wail. Tears stream down her face as I roughly push my rivals aside and sprint down the road, once again kicking up rocks with every step. I squeeze her hand reassuringly, wishing so badly that I could be young again, safe in my mother's arms. But no, I'm fourteen and already head of the family, and the lives of four children are in my hands.

Shouts of alarm can be heard outside the bakery. Peacekeepers are scrambling to keep up with me, tripping over each other and cursing as I grin deviously. Once or twice, an arrow whizzes past, barely missing my shoulder. I chuckle to myself and grit my teeth, determined not to let them catch up.

And they don't. Actually, they never even come close to me. By the time I reach the market, they're out of view, and I can no longer hear them.

Still clutching Calanthe's hand, I dash past the children that play by the fountain every day, past an old lady ambling towards a clothing store, past a youthful couple laughing and twirling in glee. I pay no attention to anyone, though, not even the woman with her fancy dog that struts around each day.

Finally, after at least twenty minutes of avoiding analytical eyes and booming voices, I come to an abrupt halt. A few feet away is a wire fence with a hole already dug underneath. I shove poor Calanthe through the hole and both of us pop up on the other side. I just sit there, breathing heavily, coming up with a plan.

"What about Roman, Ivy, and Willow?" pants Calanthe, plopping down beside me. Twigs snap underneath me as I change positions and examine my sister.

"It's going to be alright," I whisper, my gaze flitting in the opposite direction. "In a few minutes, we'll head back to the town. But for now, we need to rest, catch our breath."

Calanthe sighs. Clearly, her mind can't process my motives. I'm witty, and she's talented. Really, we're opposites. I get the feeling that when she's older, we won't get along very well.

For a few minutes, while I catch my breath, I observe my surroundings. Slender, creamy brown trees – I don't know what they're called, since I rarely come to the forest – tower above my head, reaching far into the sky. Puffy clouds can usually be spotted dancing high in the sky on a typical day, but for now, the sky is luminous and blithely vacant other than the sun, airy and dazzling. Squirrels dart gracefully from branch to branch, chattering excitedly amongst one another. Crisp air enters my lungs. Bright red and brown, brittle leaves cavort in the gentle breeze.

My favorite time of year. Soon, everyone in District 5 will set a pumpkin out on their porch and leave a bucket of muffins for children – and sometimes teenagers – to grab. It's an ancient tradition, one we study for a few weeks in school each year. Our history books are filled with things from North America, and they tell all about each festivity that went on before Panem was formed. Some districts, like mine, celebrate the ancient holidays, and the others, like Districts 10, 11, and 12, neglect them.

"Alright," I say, leaping to my feet. "Calanthe, you stay here. If anyone finds you, tell them you're out picking berries for your sister." I wink and dash off.

Luckily, everyone has already poured out, leaving the square deserted. Night has fallen, and I realize I must have fallen asleep sometime after my escape. An owl hoots faintly in the distance, and a chilling wind has set in. This wind isn't comforting and relaxing like the early-morning breezes. It's frigid, frightening; haunting, even.

By the time I reach the ally where I was living with my brother and sisters, I'm alone. Calignosity is all around, stretching over the sky and surrounding me, choking me, killing me. Suffocating, empty darkness. This is when the coyotes come out. Kids have trekked inside after a long day of jumping rope and climbing trees and dancing around the fountain in town. Mothers have tucked them into bed, whispered their goodnights.

Lights flicker on from inside the bakery, illuminating the cluttered alley. Ivy, Willow, and Roman are nowhere to be seen. Trash is all I can see, lying all around the forest green dumpster straight ahead. Only a few days ago, I had to pull out a splinter from Ivy's finger, a splinter she snagged from the wooden fence that reaches halfway to the top of the bakery, located directly behind the dumpster.

A chestnut-haired girl trots out of the bakery, holding a toddler's hand. Behind her is a lanky but sturdy boy about my age with sandy hair spiked and tangled. That's the boy I always see in the bakery!

"Hey!" I hiss, trying to catch their attention. Stepping out of the shadows, I shake the chestnut-haired girl's hand. "Nice to meet you, Chestnut." I smirk.

Chestnut rolls her eyes. "My name is Amber," she says matter-of-factly, still gripping her sister's chubby hand. "Do you need something?"

"Oh, yes, I do need something. Have you seen three children roaming around here? One of them is only seven, the others eight and eleven. Small, gaunt, hiding in the alley… recognize them?"

Chestnut-Amber's bright hazel gaze flickers down awkwardly. She squirms a little. "Er, no, I haven't seen them…"

The boy shoots her a ferocious glare. "Shut up, Amber. We all know you can't lie." Then he turns to me. "They're inside."

"Thank you," I whisper hoarsely. Behind me, Amber sighs and leads the little girl down the road, disappearing into the night. "Do you live here?"

He chuckles. "I live down the street. My family owns this bakery."

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice a shadow wavering across the smooth tile floor. Suddenly, Ivy pops out from under the table and thrusts herself into my arms, screeching, "Froxen! I knew you'd come back for us!"

"I'll always come back for you," I whisper, stroking her matted hair. "Don't you _ever_ think that I would abandon you."

"I wouldn't dare." Ivy's voice cracks. Clinging onto me, she appears so innocent and childish. Really, part of her still is that way. But there's also the part of her that's tough, witty, and even rebellious.

Then come Roman and Willow. Willow's azure eyes sparkle with tears. Her face, barely recognizable, is flushed and splotched with dirt. Legs trembling. Hands shaking. Her curly, honey blonde hair resembles a rat's nest, maybe worse than that. Her usually captivating, benign blue eyes are now deranged, clouded.

"Willow?" I breathe. She gives the tiniest nod and I embrace her, shrouding her body with my cleaved leather jacket and firmly wrapping my arms around her waist. Even with her shirt protecting her skin, I feel her ribs jutting out. "What happened?" I ask as I grab Roman and pull him into the hug.

"The Peacekeepers beat us," rasps Roman, ducking his head and sliding away from us. "Until they realized we were 'innocent.'"

"They tore my clothes," Willow whimpers. Glancing at her ruffled, off-white shirt, I see that she's telling the truth for once (Willow is a known liar). Fabric has been ripped away from both her shirt and her already bedraggled jeans.

"And they stole my necklace!" wails Ivy.

"I'm so sorry I didn't come back sooner," I apologize discordantly. "But we need to get back to Calanthe. She's alone, and you never know when a Peacekeeper might stumble across her."

Ignoring what I said, Ivy continues. "Finally, Amber and Spade came to help us. They knocked out the Peacekeepers and took us inside."

Turning stiffly to the boy, I ask, "So you're Spade?" He nods. "Thank you."

"Sure thing. Need anything else?" he asks as my hand reaches towards his.

Pausing for a moment, my hand stops midair. Then, shaking his hand firmly, I slyly say, "Yes, I do, actually."


	3. Live a Little

Ever since we moved in with the Clafetons, life has been much easier. I don't have to steal as much, and we actually have beds to sleep in and a roof above us.

Amber, Spade, Ardisia, Hawken, and Blaire Clafeton live in a towering marble house that's probably the tallest in all of District 5. Honestly, I have no idea how they got so much money. But, somehow, they have.

There are some issues, though. They're all orphans, like I am. That's why they're so sympathetic towards my siblings and me. Their parents died in a fire while Blaire was at the Capitol before being entered into the Games, forcing Spade to take control for the next couple of weeks.

Blaire is the oldest, seventeen. She's quite beautiful. Bronze locks twisting a few inches past her shoulders. Pale freckles sprinkled right on her cheekbones. Porcelain white skin. Frosty blue eyes like crescent moons that are engraved into your mind forever. Besides her outside beauty, there's not much on the inside; she's not shy, but not outspoken. Haunting and fox-like, her light features are descriptions of her personality.

Spade is next in line after Blaire. He's my age, fourteen, with shaggy, ashen blonde hair falling unevenly above his eyes. Sharp, almond-shaped eyes glare like sparkling amber knives in the sunlight. Captivating, honestly; and quite unique. Carrying around boxes of metals and strings and whatever they use in electricity factories has amplified his brawniness, given him strong, ox-like shoulders. You can see the muscles rippling in his arms when he throws his spear at the tree in my backyard.

Amber is the one who came to my siblings' rescue. She's thirteen, and much like the mother of the family. While Blaire and Spade are at the factories, Amber stays home and tends to the little ones. Mainly, she cooks meals and tidies the house. Stacking books on the shelves, mopping and vacuuming the floors, washing the sheets, etcetera. She says it doesn't tire her, but I can tell by the dark rings under her normally flashy, light brown eyes and her tangled ginger hair that the work has become an overload.

Ardisia and Hawken are the youngest of the Clafeton family. They're four-year-old twins, Ardisia being the proper little lady, and Hawken the messy, immature boy. Ardisia's actually quite intelligent, though, and a complete opposite of her brother. Amber has taught her to clean up after herself and not to play with wires. Hawken, on the other hand, _does_ play with wires and almost anything else that's electrical; Spade always says Hawken's going to be an engineer (not that he has much choice, but I understand what he means).

Out of all five Clafetons, I have to say I have the closest bond with Spade. He's my age, the first I met out of his family members, and, unlike the others, we share many interests. On days that neither of us is working, we sit high up in the bare branches of trees while surveying the town or reading.

Today is one of those days. Grasping my hand, Spade pulls me up onto a branch. I scoot over to him and tuck my knees to my chest, leaning against the tree trunk.

Below us, a mother scolds her child for running off into the crowd. Two teenagers are sipping their drinks from plastic, neon yellow cups. Samantha, Willow's rich, bratty best friend, is shrieking something at a man behind a wooden counter; probably demanding that he lower the price of his fruits.

Every once in a while, Samantha comes over to our house to stay for a night. Usually, she and Willow slide down the banister or wreck my room (Samantha hates me, and I don't really get along with Willow anymore). Last time she came, the two of them poured water on my bed, cracked eggs all over the wall, and trampled our neighbor's garden.

Paying no more attention to the usual chatter, my gaze switches to Spade. As always, his wiry blonde hair is ruffled, but in a natural way; it's clean and I can tell he brushed it, just as I ordered. He's got a light dusting of freckles below his eyes and on the bridge of his nose. His mischievous grin shows that he's up to no good.

"What now?" I ask, my lips turning up into a slight smile. Swinging my leg back and forth over the edge of the branch, I raise an eyebrow and narrow my eyes a little, my gaze still fixed on the fourteen-year-old boy next to me.

"Samantha's visiting today," says Spade, smirking. His naturally misty blue eyes, specked with shades of Blaire's frosty blue ones, glint as he snickers.

My smile fades, switching to a frown. Knitting my eyebrows, I say, "So, what?" Both of us despise Samantha. We even nicknamed her the "Corrupt Doll." I mean, she is a doll, with her flawless chocolate locks and innocent smile masking the flagitious, furtive girl with the devious schemes. She's a disaster.

"Well, I was thinking… and I decided we should, I don't know, do something to her. You know, like put honey in her hair while she's asleep or use my new gun to shoot something in the room she and Willow will be staying in," he says.

I giggle uncontrollably at the picture that forms in my mind. "I love the way you think," I say, grasping his hand in mine. "Let's get started, shall we?"

* * *

><p>Samantha and Willow are pissed. Leaping out of bed, Samantha grabs her knife and swings it around, slashing through nothing but the air. Giggling, I shuffle out of the room and smack right into Spade and tumble onto him as he falls to the ground, arms flailing.<p>

I absolutely lose it. By now, I'm cracking up, beating the floor with my fists. I've seen other people laugh this hard before, but never have I done it myself. Actually, I never even imagined I could laugh like this, given my history. Life back then was so dull, miserable; I never had anything to laugh about. But now, my life is so much better and I have hundreds of things to set me off like this.

Raising an eyebrow in amusement, Spade stares at me. I cover my mouth, but my hands are pulled behind my back as Spade turns me over and tickles me. He knows that's my weakness.

"Stop it!" I cry, still laughing. "I can't breath!" It's true; I'm gasping for breath when he lets me go, smirking.

"Come on, let's get out of here." Taking my hand and pulling me to my feet, he wipes off his shirt. Instead of dashing down the stairs like we usually do for a quick escape, we slide down the banister.

"That's a good way to clean it off," I mutter as I drop gracefully to the floor, landing perfectly on my feet.

Upstairs, Willow and Sam are throwing a fit. Just as we disappear into the dining room, I hear them storming down the stairs, shrieking. A high-pitched scream reaches my ears, and I safely guess that Samantha has seen her reflection in the mirror at the bottom of the staircase.

Stifling a snort of amusement, I slide under the kitchen table, my back low to the ground, body bent awkwardly so I won't hit my head. I just have to show off like this every once in a while.

Again, Spade takes my hand in his and darts into the next room. I'm not exactly sure what this one is; it's just… there. I suppose I like it, though, with its plush chairs and couches and lavender walls.

Out of the three doors in the "lavender running room," Spade chooses the one to the left. I find myself in the room Spade and I use to exercise. Well, he exercises, while I do flips or sketch something on the wall.

Sketching is one of my many hobbies. When I have nothing else to do or if I become wary of whatever else I've been doing to keep myself busy, I come down here – usually, the room is already occupied by Spade – with my brushes and pencils and draw something on the wall. Most of the time, it's something simple, like an apple tree or a bird. I've been doing it for a while, though, so a good bit of the wall is decorated with my facile vignettes and sketches.

Collapsing to the floor, I clutch my stomach, laughing and gasping at the same time. I can hardly breathe, but I'm having so much fun.

"You think they'll find us?" I ask once I finally catch my breath.

Shaking his head, he says jokingly, "Never. Samantha's too stupid to pick the lock for this room." He winks.

I let out a little laugh and lean back on the wall. "Yeah, I bet they've already given up. I don't hear any screaming."

Spade chuckles and pats my knee with a calloused hand. "We should stay down here for a while. Let them cool off. I think we both know how they are when they're mad."

I groan. "Try living with Willow almost all your life. It's a nightmare."

"I've had to put up with Samantha for three years," he says defensively. "But that's not near as bad as eight, I suppose."

"She's a brat. Family, though, so I have to love her. We've been through a lot…" I let my voice trail off with a soft shudder.

"What was it like?" whispers Spade, looking up at me with concerned ocean-blue eyes sparkling like stars. They're truly beautiful…

"My parents died when I was nine," I begin shakily. "I started taking care of Ivy, Willow, Roman, and Calanthe on my own, living in the same house. But then it burned down. We had nowhere to go. We…" I pause, taking in a deep breath, wondering if I should continue. After a few seconds, I shake my head, having made up my mind. "We didn't have any money, so we moved into an old shed for a couple of months. It was…" I try to think of the words that Ardisia taught me. "Filthy, desolate, feculent."

"How did you stay alive? I mean, you didn't have any money, so how did you get food and clothes?" Spade's tone is respectful, not accusing.

I lean in closer and reply in a voice that's barely a whisper, "I stole."

Only a small bit of surprise flickers in his eyes. He knows me well enough to presume how I survived with no money or job.

Ignoring his lack of shock, I continue. "Someone ended up buying the shed and fixing it up. It's nice, now; he did a good job. Anyway, he bought the shed, and we got a little money. It wasn't worth much, though, so we still couldn't live in a proper home. After that, we lived in the forest for a week or two while I tried to find somewhere else for us to stay. We all hated the forest, especially Calanthe. There weren't any abandoned houses, sheds, or warehouses left, though. That's when we started living in alleys."

"You came to the alley beside my bakery five months ago," finishes Spade.

"Five months ago," I firmly repeat, nodding my head. "My siblings and I met you and the others three months ago." My voice gets a little quieter.

"And I'm so glad," he whispers, barely audible. There's an edge to his voice. Something I can't quite put my finger on glossed his statement.

Breaking the silence that followed, I announce, "We'd better be getting back upstairs. Breakfast should be ready soon." With that, Spade and I take off, dashing up the stairs, prepared for Samantha's fit and Amber's lecture.

* * *

><p><em>Let me know how it wasss(:<em>


	4. Emotions

Thievery is very common in this household. Not real thievery, where you go off abducting children or swindling money and food. This is the kind where toys disappear, food vanishes from your plate if you turn your head, blankets and pillows go missing from your bed during the night, or your mother's kitchen knives disperse into thin air. It's almost comical, really.

I remember watching my mother cook when I was five years old. Vegetables would plop into a pot of boiling water. Foam bubbled at the surface. Vapor surmounted the air, wreathing around me and tickling my nose with its foul scent. However, Mother was unaffected by it. She could put up with hours of the fetid smell. Ten minutes was hard enough for me, but somehow, Mother stayed in the kitchen for such long periods of time without even taking a break that I would begin to wonder if she was alright. And so I'd pay her a visit. Sometimes I would sneak over to her and pop up beside the oven. My little tricks never failed to frighten her.

Two loaves of bread are placed neatly on little Ardisia's plate, though mine has vanished. Beside her, Hawken nibbles guiltily on a slice of cheese; he knows fully well that Amber doesn't like him eating cheese (though none of us know why).

While Spade and Amber argue about who gets the last loaf of bread, I snatch some blueberries off Spade's plate and shove them in my mouth. He's still yelling and waving his arms around, so I grab a few more. Again, he's completely unaware as his spoon is taken from his bowl of soup and placed in front of Hawken, who doesn't even notice. I'm only doing this to see his result, and most likely laugh at it.

Just as I had hoped for, when Spade returns to his dinner to find half the blueberries gone, one strawberry bitten into, and his spoon missing, he starts shouting at the rest of us. His face has turned blood red in anger, his teeth clenched. And then, as he stands abruptly from his chair and it knocks against mine, he notices the extra spoon in Hawken's bowl and loses it. See, he has a short temper, and anything can set him off when he's in one of his moods like this.

Unfortunately, I didn't know that he would completely blow up. Grabbing his arm, I yank him towards me. "Stop it, Spade. Don't be stupid. I took your berries, not Hawken."

"Whatever," he mumbles, plopping back down and scooting his chair towards the table. "It's on his plate, so I figured it was him."

Breaking off our argument, Blaire, who has been silent the whole time, suddenly blurts out, "I'm getting married."

This takes everyone aback. Spade's spoon stops halfway to his mouth. My fork slips from my grasp, clattering onto my plate. Amber chokes a little on her water, her golden-brown eyes wide with shock. We all know that Blaire has been with her boyfriend, Savam, for almost three years now, but none of us were expecting her to get married. She's only seventeen!

Ardisia gasps dramatically, and somewhat disapprovingly. "Married?"

Blaire's frigid blue eyes flash. She doesn't look nervous, only slightly annoyed by our reactions. Apparently, it didn't go as expected. Savam's great and all, but I'm not sure she's ready for this. "What? Is there a problem with that?" she snaps.

"No," Spade says slowly. "We weren't expecting it, that's all. I mean, none of us has seen him lately, and you're only seventeen…"

"My age doesn't make a difference!" Blaire retorts, repeating Spade's chair action. "Why can't you just be happy for me?" And with that, she stalks off, her ash blonde tresses swaying back around forth around her shoulders. Anger is also a common thing around our house, especially with Blaire and Spade. They both have a bitter frame of mind in situations like this. Usually, though, Blaire has a placid aura, lightening everyone around her with a sweet, lulling voice. Her appearance and attitude resemble an angel.

For a whole minute, silence fills the room. I can almost hear the silence ringing in my ears, but I block out everything around me, my mind spinning. I'm trying to make sense of Blaire's outburst when Amber interrupts my thoughts, saying, "I'm going to bed. You two better go, also." She points to Hawken and Ardisia, yawning. "Say your good nights to Froxy and Spade."

"Good night Froxy and Spade," the twins chorus with high-pitched voices. They toddle over to us and squeeze our legs with chubby arms. Since they can't yet reach our arms, they've taken a liking to our other limbs.

Ardisia gives us both a quick hug and bounds up the steps, yawning again. She flips off the hallway lights and slips into her room. Moments later, every light upstairs has flickered off, leaving only the kitchen illuminated.

"I'm afraid to go to sleep," I admit. "With Samantha here and all. You never know what devious revenge she has in mind." She and Willow never showed up for dinner. I'm becoming a little suspicious. They aren't very clever, though, so I shouldn't worry.

Spade shrugs. "I don't care what she does to me, as long as I'm not murdered. But I'll stay up and keep you company if you'd like."

Lately, I've been longing for company. Loneliness has followed me like a lost puppy all my life. It's become a burden. I'm desperate for someone to talk to, someone that I can spill my story and emotions to. Locking them up is what I've learned to do; it keeps me safe. That way, I won't get too close to anyone and deal with the pain of losing them like I did my parents. I don't want to experience it again. Once is enough for me. Trust no longer comes easily to me. For a while now, I've had no one to confide in. No one would stay and listen to my rants or hold me while I cried. I've been on my own for so long, too long. I just need to loosen up.

I think I've finally found someone.

"Yes, I would like that. If you'll put up with me all night, that is," I add with a light laugh.

Spade grunts. "I'll try my best to listen." So he knows what's coming. Or he thinks he does, anyway.

Taking a quick glimpse at Spade, I realize that once again, his spiky, honey-colored hair is disordered. His face is still flushed from the flare at dinner. Drumming his fingers on the table, he says, "So, what's up?"

I sigh. "You know, you're the first person I've trusted since my parents died. Family is all I've ever had. But Willow and I don't get along, and Ivy is drifting away from me. Even Calanthe seems distant."

"I know how you feel. Before Hawken and Ardisia came along, and when my parents were alive, Amber was like a best friend to me. Now, she spends so much time with the twins. It's like she's forgotten about me. And Blaire's moving on, getting married."

"Promise you'll never leave me like that?" I ask desperately.

"I promise," says Spade matter-of-factly. "We'll always be close. I swear it."

Throughout the night, Spade holds me in his arms as I cry. Soft whimpers escape my lips, causing him to squeeze me tighter. I'm sitting on his legs with my head buried in his shoulder, my arms wrapped around his waist and clasped together behind his back. A sense of security fills me to the brim. I've never had anyone hold me like this.

When he sings to me, it's like the world just disappears and I'm lost in the sweet sound of his voice. He's so gentle, so loving… I could stay here forever.

I stare up at him with doused amber eyes. Still stroking my hair, he returns my gaze. "You're the most wonderful person I've ever met."

* * *

><p><em>Stop right here. Take a deep breath, close your eyes... open! And continuee(: Thanks, loves.<em>

* * *

><p><em>Crack<em>. It severs the wall. _Thump. _A vacant picture frame falls to the floor beside my dresser. Then another, this one occupied by a photo of my dead friend, Fluore. Shattering on the smooth surface of my wardrobe, scraping the wall. _Crack. _Again, the acuate blade of my knife buries itself in my bedside table. _Bang_. The impact of my club and the wall rattles the room. Teacups smash on the floor. The door slams open.

"What are you doing?" shrieks Amber, rushing towards me. After slapping my shoulder a few times, she disappears into the bathroom and emerges a few seconds later, scurrying over to the pile of broken glass. With several infuriated swipes, the disorder of crystal shards has been wiped away and tossed into a trashcan. Amber, still affronted and somewhat terrified by my actions, then straightens the empty picture frame and moves on to my table. Muttering under her breath, she leans it back against the wall and pulls out her broom again. I close my eyes and listen to the high-pitched bedlam of glass being shoved against wood and her broom making contact with the wall and my bed.

Finally, Amber is satisfied with the new situation of my room, and lets out a contented huff. Smoothing down her clothes, she puts one hand on her hip and surveys the area. The remains of the frame and mirror have been swept away, the table thrust nicely against the wall, the trashcan emptied, the picture straightened, and the disarray of rags and clothes tidied. Only the wall remains untouched by Amber's nimble fingers. The hole is still visible, and though she claims it will be left alone as a punishment, I find myself believing she just can't fix it. Inexorably, she exits the room.

Turning my thoughts and ears to outside my bedroom, I hear Ardisia and Hawken thundering down the hallway. I crawl over to my door and peak underneath, watching them through the crack. Smirking, Hawken waves a doll over the rail, while Ardisia wails and begs him not to drop it. With tears trickling down her flushed cheeks, she struggles to reach her toy, but it remains just out of her grasp.

"Don't!" Ardisia cries pitifully. "Give it back, Hawken!" Her arms flail around over the edge of the banister as she glares at her brother.

"Alright," he replies coolly. His grip on the toy looses, and he sneers at the sobbing girl as her doll cascades to the floor below. There's a soft thump, indicating that the stuffed figurine has found its way to the hardwood, which sends Ardisia into another frenzy. "Go get it!" says Hawken.

I go back to the center of my room and press one ear to the floor. Faintly, I hear muffled voices coming from the kitchen. Spade and Amber, I think. Their words reverberate on my face as I listen. Both tones have an urgent ring, as if they are frantically trying to piece something together. No, they're arguing. About what, though? I can't detect their exact words, but I hear my name pop up several times. I picture Spade waving his hands around and throwing in some distressed gestures like he always does when he's angry. Amber is probably fighting to say calm, her arms twitching the way they do when she argues with someone. Of course, she thinks she's the only one that's ever correct on matters that involve her.

The fighting outside my bedroom has ceased, so I tiptoe out the room and down the stairs. Once I reach the kitchen, Spade and Amber immediately stop talking. Spade shoots me a sympathetic glance while Amber glares at me. If looks could kill, I'd be dead in a second.

"What are you doing?" I ask, narrowing my eyes in suspicion. "I heard you talking. I was listening upstairs. What were you saying?"

Spade opens his mouth to reply, but Amber cuts him off. "It's nothing, Froxen. Go back to your nap." I want to inform her that I wasn't taking a nap, but I can tell by the glint in her amber eyes that she's already angry enough without my loutish remarks. _Probably __because __of __the __mess __I __made,_ I think.

"Sorry," I mutter indifferently. "Thanks for cleaning it up." Amber gives me a curt nod and marches past, her strawberry blonde hair swaying from side to side rhythmically. Once she reaches the top of the stairs, I turn back to Spade. "So, what was that all about? She seems even more upset than she was earlier."

His face flushes. "Nothing, Frox; don't worry about it. Someone broke a couple pots and threw the leftovers in our yard. Another thing to clean up…"

He's lying. But I don't say anything. I'll ask about it some other time, when Amber isn't in such an awful mood. Getting anything out of her is impossible when she's like this. So I only sigh and bound outside. After an hour of aimless wandering, I find myself atop of the tallest hill in our district.

* * *

><p>Okay, I'm gonna stop right here. So, did you like it? I'm thinking of making the next chapter Christmasy. It'll be happier, I promise. And there'll be some romance c; Hopefully, chapter, um, four I think will be up today. Either today or tomorrow, but I'm trying to speed up my writing and get some stuff done before the holidays. I'm on Christmas break, so it won't be too hard(: I hope you're all enjoying your break, too. When you review *nudgenudge* let me know how it's going and what your plans are.<p> 


	5. Happiness and Love Don't Last Long

Although District 5 does not and never will compare to the Capitol, it is still beautiful. Right now, I'm staring down at the most captivating sight that has ever crossed my field of vision: lights flash from the tops of buildings and electricity towers, imbuing the snowflakes' white glow as they cascade in pastel shades of red, green, and blue.

My head settles on a rock and I close my eyes, allowing myself to daydream. On most days, I try to keep my thoughts lined up and stick to my tasks. For now, however, we're out of school for everyone's favorite holiday: Mockingjay Day. Every year on December 24th, thousands of mockingjays are released from the Capitol to fly from district to district and nest. It's a truly beautiful sight.

Just as I begin to drift into sleep, I hear the crunching of snow underfoot, indicating that someone is approaching. I sit up and, within the span of one second, I'm on my feet, completely aware now. My muscles visibly relax when I realize it's only Spade.

"Hey, Frox," he says. "What are you doing out here all alone? It's freezing." Must be, as he's shivering slightly even though he's got a blanket around him.

"I just wanted to get away and be alone," I reply shortly. _I __do __enjoy __his __presence, __though__… __maybe __he __won__'__t __take __the __hint __and __he__'__ll __stay __a __while __longer. __I__'__ll __never __admit __that I want him to stay._

Taking a seat beside me, he speaks again. "I'll stay anyway. I wouldn't ever leave you alone in freezing weather like this." He smiles and wraps the blanket around both of our bodies. It doesn't help much, though, because I'm still uncomfortably cold.

I look up at him and gaze into his eyes. They've taken on a bluish tint, but are still sweet and… soft? No, not soft; Spade is never soft. What is it, then? Either way, it's very comforting, and I scoot closer for more protection.

When his own eyes flicker down, he smiles again, but says nothing. Snaking an arm around my waist, he pulls me onto his lap and puts his other hand behind my head. "You are beautiful," he whispers. By now, my heart is beating fast in anticipation as I continue to stare at his face. I don't know why, but I'm nervous. Why should I be? He tells me this all the time. We're practically siblings. Then, gently, he removes a strand of hair from my forehead and bends down to whisper into my ear. "You are the most beautiful girl in all of Panem." His mouth moves from my ear to my lips.

Shock fills my entire body. I never expected this to happen. Here we are, out in the coldest weather of the year, alone on top of the tallest hill in District 5 that looks down onto the entire district, kissing. I know I should pull away and say we're only friends, best friends. But that would be a lie. Right now, I'm no longer shocked but lost in this winter paradise involving snow blanketing our bodies and Spade's lips, warm and welcoming, against mine. I never want this moment to end.

But it does, all too quickly. I open my eyes in disappointment and look up at him again. This time, his eyes are full of compassion and a tiny bit of regret. "Frox, I'm so sorry. I couldn't help it. I hope you don't mind…"

Spade tries to scramble away, but I tug him back, wrapping my arms around his neck and pulling him close again. "I didn't mind at all," I whisper. Again, our lips touch, gently at first, then with more passion. Sorrow, bitterness, longing, and love take over all at once, which, I promise you, is a bad combination. Still, I savor the moment, planning to enjoy it for the rest of my life.

I've never felt like this before. I've never even kissed a boy, let alone fallen in love. Until now. I love this boy so much. I have loved him ever since I met him, I just didn't realize it until now. He's so much more than a best friend to me. Spade is all I ever wanted and all I need.

His grip on my shirt tightens and he strains to kiss me harder and get me as close to him as possible. All traces of coldness have gone. My mind has switched over to serenity and blocked everything out but the taste of Spade's lips and the warmth radiating from his body. I can feel his muscles through his shirt as he presses against me and removes me from his lap, setting me on the ground. Surely I've sunk into the snow, but I have, I don't even notice.

Finally, we part, gasping for air, although Spade is still on top of me and very close to my face. "I love you," he murmurs. There's a burning intensity in his amber eyes that I've never seen before.

"I love you, too. Now let's go celebrate," I add with a grin. "It's almost Mockingjay Day."

We walk back to the house together, hand in hand, still smiling. Even after ten minutes, my lips still tingle with that newfound sensation. To say the least, I really love it.

As we pass the bakery, a seventeen-year-old boy from school pops out. He's one of the wealthy, popular kids that every girl is in love with. I don't like him that much, but he's one of Spade's friends, so I restrain from wringing his neck. "Whoa, it's Foxy and Spade! And look, they're holding hands!" He winks and saunters over.

I snort and my eyes turn to emerald slits, but Spade only laughs. "What do you want, Axel?" I ask wearily

"I just want to know what's up, that's all," he says nonchalantly. "You two dating now or something?" His accent is bothering me. He's from the Capitol; his father is a Peacekeeper here.

Spade and I exchange looks. Then he turns back to Axel and nods. "Definitely."

Axel raises an eyebrow. "Hey, now. Don't do anything you'll regret. Remember, you live together." He laughs again and one of his friends steps out of the bakery. "Guess what, Disse? Foxy and Spade are a thing now!"

They high-five each other and Disse says with a wink, "I was waiting for it to happen. Man, this is great! So, how _did_ it happen? Spade, did you kiss her like I told you to?"

Now it's my turn to be interested. "I'll tell you when we get home," Spade mutters to me.

* * *

><p>I open the door to see… a party? Drinks, dancing teenagers, streamers, strobe lights… what is this?<p>

"What is this?" Spade asks, echoing my thoughts exactly. "Blaire never told me there was going to be a party. She must be behind all this."

I only shrug and make my way through the crowd. How did she afford this? _Oh, _I think bitterly, _that__'__s __right. __Blaire: __Hunger __Games __victor. __Money __galore._

One of Amber's vase smashes onto the tiled floor as Spade's friend, Ventus, stumbles over, drink in hand, and shouts above the din, "Hullo Foxy, Spade." He winks. "Your sister's amazing."

I flash a smile and grab his glass, choking down the rest of the blood-red liquid that happens to be only a few shades darker than my hair. Ventus chuckles and grabs another bottle before heading off to a different room.

Blue, white, and purple lights flash in my eyes. I push past Lorem Ipsum, the most popular girl at our school – Axel's newest girlfriend – and glare ferociously into her hazel eyes. She gives me a strange look as I jerk my head away and saunter off. Ignis Catenam and all the richest kids in District 5 are at _my_house enjoying _my_party. For I have just remembered: today is my birthday.

"Happy birthday!" Torqueri Corde cheers as I walk by, splashing wine on my turquoise dress. _She __must __be __drunk, _I think with a bitter sigh. Torq is usually civil and considerate. This dancing, screaming slut right here is _not_the gorgeous Torq I know and love. Even her twin, Pura, seems a bit off tonight. But who is to blame? Mockingjay Day is coming up, along with the reapings. I scoff as I remember Ira bragging about the fact that this year, she would be one of District 5's proud tributes. Clearly, she is a Career-wannabe. Even if they do ally with her, they will probably kill her while she is asleep.

I shudder at the thought of the annual Hunger Games. Each year, I stand tensely in the crowd of other teens my age, impatiently waiting for Dallam to choose two unlucky tributes to participate in a deathly game for the Capitol's entertainment. It's sickening.

Someone nudges my shoulder. "You alright?" asks Spade, looking down at me. He must be at least five inches taller than me.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I assure him. He bends down to kiss my cheek, inducing glares from Ira and Ignis and their followers. Ignoring their harsh, biting gazes, I clasp my arms behind his neck once again and kiss him softly. Each kiss leaves me wanting more, and soon enough, we're upstairs on my bed in a full-on make-out session, with Spade's shirt lying on the floor. I plan to go no further than this, no matter how badly I want it and how much I love him.

I roll on top of him and run my hands down my bare chest, then tangle my fingers in his tussled hair. His hands rub the superficial fabric of my shirt as he mutters, "I love you so, so much. You mean the world to me." Spade's soothing voice blocks out the noise coming from downstairs.

* * *

><p>Things start to go downhill when Amber is reaped for the Hunger Games. I watch as she stands beside Dallam, trying not to tremble. Fear glints in her coppery eyes, caught on tape by the cameramen standing atop buildings and in various places of town. A boy whose name I cannot recall steps into place by the podium, waving shyly to the crowd, and shakes Amber's hand. I silently curse Ira for not volunteering; her hatred towards me for 'stealing the love of her life' must be strong than her desire to participate in the Games. But I hate Dallam even more for choosing one of the two cards with my friend-sister's name on it. As Ardisia, Hawken, and I weep on Amber's shoulder, I can only hope that the Hunger Games will never be the death of me. I can only hope.<p>

* * *

><p><em>Side notes:<br>__Daemon Corde- the heart of the demon  
><em>_Pulchra Corde- beautiful heart  
><em>_Pura Corde- pure heart  
><em>_Torqueri Corde- tortured heart  
><em>_Ignis Catenam- chain of fire_

_If they haven't appeared already, they will at some point. Oh, and if you're ever wondering why I chose a certain name for someone, find out its Latin definition or whatever. Usually, it will mean something._

_I know it seems un-Foxfaceish, but I promise, she'll get more in character as the story progresses. c:_


End file.
